A familiar, tall, dark man stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall in the shadow. Jaw flexed. Eyes narrowed. She didn’t miss his tensed muscles, his unmovable focus—something was wrong. Everything about his body language was different from when they’d last spoken. There was nothing relaxed, charming, or jovial about him now.
And that made what she had to do all the more difficult.
“Having fun?” Ryder asked with casual indifference, expressionless, emotionless. The stone wall. Olivia knew it was a mask.
“Sure,” she replied slowly, stopping several feet away, not trusting herself to get any closer to the scent that filled her chest with hunger.
“Don’t trust anyone.” His dark eyes judged her, and anger cracked through his words, surprising Olivia.
This was not the Ryder she was used to. He was difficult, sure. A stone wall, definitely. But uncontrollably angry? What exactly was wrong?
“I’m not trusting anyone,” she assured him, wondering how she would find the right words to articulate the change in their deal. She doubted there would ever be a good time to break the news that she couldn’t interview him exclusively.
“You are,” he snapped, quick and accusatory, more anger pouring out. “It is not a good idea for you to be here.”
Her back stiffened with the affront. “Why? What the hell are you talking about?”
Ryder looked back down the hall and lowered his voice until she could barely hear it. “Just trust me.” He remained expressionless, but she felt the fire burning within him nonetheless.
“I can’t just trust you,” she retorted, matching his quieter tones yet feeling her own outrage rising within. “I have to learn things for myself.”
“What?” Ryder growled through clenched teeth. “Are you drunk?” He took a step forward, leaving only a foot of space between their tense bodies. “Now you’re saying you can’t trust me? I thought we’d established a deal.”
“I’m fucking exhausted, not drunk. And, you, your lordship, told me not to trust anyone.” Her whispering voice dripped with bitterness as she crossed her arms across her chest.
But his face remained blank, an empty frown. It only served to heat up her increasing frustration within. Why was he so impossible? How was she supposed to count on his exclusive testimony if he wouldn’t even open up to her?
“This isn’t a game.” He checked down the hall again, but looked back at her once he felt the coast was clear.
“Obviously.” She glared up into his eyes.
Distantly, the party in the mess could still be heard, but the hallway remained quiet and empty, creating a vacuum of privacy for their argument.
“You need to start listening to me, or you are going to get hurt around here.” He held his body threateningly, expecting her to bow down underneath his intense glare.
But Olivia wasn’t one to give up so easily, and a ball of frustration had rooted in her chest. “From what I can see, everyone has been very nice to me. I feel safe.”
“For now.”
“Where is this mystery threat coming from?”
“It’s real.”
“How do you know?” she pressed, unable to hold back the disbelief in her tone. “Who has made threatening comments about me?”
“I told you—there are problems. But not everyone knows how to play by big-boy rules.”
“Just fucking tell me what you know. Don’t be so cryptic.” Olivia found her own teeth clenching. “How the hell do you expect to be my only interviewee if you won’t fucking talk to me?”
As the words escaped, his eyes widened, and she knew he understood: her commitment was breaking.
“I can, and I will—but now is not the time or place. When is our next interview?” His tone was low and demanding.
She narrowed her eyes and breathed the words that she never wanted to admit. “Ryder, I can’t just interview you.”
He said nothing in return, watching.
“I have to go.” She averted her gaze.
“No.”
“I’ll do what I want,” she said as she tried to turn away.
“Stop,” he ordered her, grabbing her hand out of instinct. And just like when they’d touched days ago, there was a rush of heat up her arm and into her core. Like electricity awakening her. Her cheeks flushed in response, heating up her throat and chest. He watched her visceral response, his eyes widening and dilating, and she knew he felt it too as his breathing deepened.
Ryder pulled her closer to him, further into the shadows of the enclave, and loomed over her with a protective and angry look in his eyes. Now he had her where he wanted her, and she knew she was fucked.
“You don’t know this place like I do.” He breathed down onto her, tugging her in closer to him, letting his words really sink in. “We are in a fucking war zone. These guys are coming back from operations. They’re fucking killing targets. Do you understand? They use the mess to unwind. Blow off steam. It’s not a good place for you to be.”
Olivia found herself speechless for the first time, but not just because of their physical closeness. It was his palpable sincerity. When he removed his mask of stone and revealed the warm, caring man underneath, it sent chills under her skin. The expression on his face indicated that he cared… about her. His actions were motivated by much more than ego alone. They were rooted in a sense of honor.
“There are people here who want to see you gone. By any means necessary.” He continued to grasp her hand tightly, and the scent of cedar flowed off him. She didn’t doubt his conviction for a moment. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said in a rough whisper. “I don’t want you to be here.”
But as much as she desperately wanted to respond to his warnings and sink further into his aura, she needed him to respect her. She needed to appear strong. She couldn’t let his need to protect her become her safety net.
She didn’t do safety nets. For her own self-respect.
“I can’t do this,” she said. “Please don’t make me do this.”
“I’m just looking out for you.”
“Why me, Ryder?” she whispered.
He stared her down and held her hand to keep her close to him. “Because you need it.” His tone was steady. Final.
The words screeched the record to a halt in her brain, and she ripped her hand away from his.
She didn’t need anything from anyone.
But before she could find a cool and professional way to articulate that to him, he cut into her thoughts.
“It’s dark out. I’ll walk you back to your bunk,” he said, observing her outrage but refusing to soften his commanding demeanor. “You are done here.”
She gritted her teeth, unable to move. “Ryder.” The rage boiled in her. Even more infuriating was that the more her emotions inflamed, the cooler he got, finding the control to get his mask of stone back on. Olivia wanted to slam her hands against his chest, anything to release the emotion trapped under his steel surface. To release the frustration built up inside her. “Fuck you. I’m going alone.”
He didn’t even bat an eye. “No, you aren’t,” he commanded, dominating her with his hulking frame and authoritative voice. Unbelievable.
Mere inches separated them, and as he breathed down onto her, she couldn’t contain the conflict. One second she wanted to punch him, the next she wanted to kiss him. Hard. Frustrated and upset with his dismissive behavior, she hated to look into his eyes. But as much as she tried to look away, his dark gaze pulled her in like a tractor beam.
Rule number… what fucking number was it again? Don’t fuck the hot guy on base? Shit.
“You don’t get to hold all the cards,” she said, her voice cracking.
“You hold more cards than you think,” he responded quietly.
And then, against her will, her mouth tilted up to his, and he leaned over her in response.
His lips looked wide and delicious. She was sure they were skilled. She’d wanted to taste his mouth and run her hands up hi
s thick, inked arms since the moment she’d met him.
But, as close as their mouths came, Ryder didn’t close the gap between them. He took a half step back, finding the solid wall behind him again, and with one last glance, he slipped away.
She felt a vacuum of air as he left the area, but she didn’t turn around. All she could hear were his footsteps marching down the metal, grated hallway and rejoining the mess.
Staring blankly ahead, Olivia took the opportunity to escape to the women’s washroom. Her heart was racing. Her breath was lost. Her mind was full of fucked-up and troubling desires.
Olivia should have thanked him. He’d fucking saved her from herself, and the gap between them would always remain as such.
She had no doubt that if she pursued them, she would end up burnt.
Just like she feared.
At that moment, the status of her project seemed less important than her own disturbing inability to stay clear of the magnetic attraction and avoid doing what she swore she’d never fucking do: break company rules.
13
Olivia found her way down the hallway and back to the mess. As she crested the corner of the amber-lit room, she was struck by the pack of operators surrounding Ryder, chanting and calling him to slug back the green bottle of Flag he held in his hand. In the late hours of social night, only the rowdiest SEALs were left behind—the ones with anguish in their eyes and abundant steam to blow.
On the other side of the room, Ryder finished guzzling the bubbly Moroccan beer. Once done, the dark, handsome man briefly gazed over at her. She didn’t miss the reluctance in his eyes. He didn’t want to be drinking. But his men were taking advantage of the moment to get their master chief drunk. And no good leader would miss the chance to bond with his men—denying their calls to drink would be like kicking sand in their faces.
Lingering at the table of remaining supporters, Olivia reflected that she at least could make use of her time for her cultural inquisition. She was seeing what she thought she’d see—the troop operating like a miniature fiefdom in which Ryder was the king. Once Ryder polished off the first round, it quickly turned into more and more. Beers were thrust in front of him from all over.
Ryder’s frown became neutral. In time, he even began to grin—that breathtaking, jaw-dropping grin that made her melt. She couldn’t help but snort loudly as she looked back at Zach, who was talking data analytics in front of her.
He raised his eyebrow. “I didn’t think pivot tables were that bad.”
“Bottoms up, girl.” Bruce swooped in and handed her another beer.
Olivia reluctantly took it—should she be seen as getting drunk? It seemed ill-advised, though it wasn’t technically against the rules.
She had the feeling Bruce sensed her strife, because he tried to make jokes to lighten the situation. No matter how late it got, he never seemed tired, and his energy only seemed to increase. And some of the other SEALs getting rowdier and louder in the room seemed to be on something more than just beer.
Were drugs floating around on base? She found herself glancing over at Ryder periodically, who never seemed looking in her direction when she did.
The more she observed, the more she saw what was going on. Olivia remained on the edge of the table, and the crowd soon thinned out to a group of about twenty. She idly enjoyed conversation with Bruce and Zach, but it was all easy chatter. No one was asking her anything too personal, so she returned the favor.
Someone brought over tequila shots, but she refused, much to the disappointment of the guys around her. She took Ryder’s warning and didn’t take any open drinks from anyone.
“Are they trying to get me drunk?” she asked Bruce suspiciously.
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“Come on,” he said, insinuating that she needed to be honest with herself. “They are men. Before anything else, they are just men.” He grinned at her. “And don’t forget it.”
There was wisdom in that, she thought.
Finally, some of the guys broke for the washroom while others went to investigate what the hell music was hitting the playlist. “If that’s some boy band,” one SEAL said, laughing loudly as he walked out, “I’m going to kill all of y’all.”
With the disruption, Ryder swiftly moved up and toward the exit. A true professional, he was so casual and so quick that no one noticed. No one except Olivia, who had been unable to stop watching him. She followed him.
Though she knew why, she didn’t want to admit it.
Outside, in the dark crisp night air of the Sahel, she looked around. Ryder had vanished.
Damn.
There were almost no lights on the compound at night, a tactical decision to reduce the likelihood of enemies spying on or targeting them.
Olivia breathed in hard and glanced up at the stars. She’d never really drunk in the night sky of West Africa before. It was unbelievable, like something out of a photography magazine. Before she could linger too long, the sounds carrying through the night stirred her, challenging her sense of security. Heated, drunken men argued nearby, chewing out orders they’d received. But even more alarming, gunshots sounded in the distance, though she wasn’t sure how far. She could see the stone compound wall that surrounded the base and wondered how easily it would be for someone to hop over.
Never had the war zone been more apparent. She shivered, but she wasn’t cold—she was scared. Ryder was right, she admitted bitterly to herself. She shouldn’t have been by herself. She didn’t know anyone. And it didn’t feel safe. It wasn’t safe. She suddenly felt very vulnerable, wishing she hadn’t been so cavalier.
“What are you waiting for?” a low voice snarled behind her. It wasn’t one she recognized.
As she turned back, she saw man with sandy hair sauntering toward her. His face was drunk and menacing. Trembling, she looked around—there was no one in sight. There was no one to protect her.
Wasn’t that what I wanted?
“We haven’t met yet.” The prowling man continued to approach her, his eyes narrowing on his target: her.
“I’m Olivia.” She willed her voice to remain strong, buying time in the conversation to find an exit.
The man extended his hand, closing the remaining distance between them in three long, eager strides. He was long and lean, and had a slightly different look than Ryder, like someone had stolen his valor.
“Senior Chief Liam Blackshot.” His lips curled.
After she shook his hand, he analyzed her up and down, and she observed glassy red eyes over an equally red nose. Something about his demeanor made her uneasy. It seemed unpredictable. Unhinged. Not sober.
“Nice to meet you. I have to…” Olivia began, turning back to the mess, looking for… anyone. Someone.
A certain someone.
But the senior chief cut her off. “I’ll walk you to your bunk.” His bloodshot eyes grew wild and wide.
Her skin crawled. “No, thanks,” she said. “I’m waiting for someone.” As much as she wanted that to be true, she realized she’d blown it. No one was coming. Suddenly, she felt very, very alone.
“What? Are you scared?” Blackshot grunted, challenging her. His grin grew twisted and wide. He reached up and rubbed his face and nose quickly and hard. Was he shaking?
“No,” she choked out.
“You saw the news—NCIS said we are all good guys here. Nothing to be scared of, sweetheart.” The insinuation in his voice was alarming. He was teasing her. Testing her. Trying to threaten her. Trying to torture her. His eyes narrowed as he observed his prey.
She shook her head quickly, willing him to go away. “I don’t think that’s what it means.” As soon as she said it, she regretted it.
Blackshot raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Did they miss something?” he asked politely. “Is that why you are here? Are you investigating us?”
She took a step back. He advanced again on her, his teeth bared.
“Don’t believe what you hear. Some of the
guys have… differences of opinions.”
His statement shocked her. She held her ground and did her best to appear unfazed. “Opinions?” she repeated, unable to avoid asking questions. “On what?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Go look up the fog of war, princess.”
She clenched her teeth, staring him back down. “That’s enough.”
“Why don’t we go for a walk?” Blackshot asked, looking at her up and down. “There are some things you need to know.”
She shook her head. “Not necessary.”
Blackshot seemed desperate as he reached out to grab her arm. “This isn’t optional.”
“No,” she said again, and just as she pulled away from Blackshot, something stirred in the darkness beside the mess.
“You’re late,” an angry tone bellowed. “Girl, I don’t have all night. Let’s go, already.”
Blackshot whipped his head around at the noise and recoiled.
Olivia felt relieved as fuck. She’d recognize that demanding, angry voice anywhere—and it was a welcome surprise. She turned to the left and spotted her dark knight leaning against the building in the blackest shadow, his face serious and unimpressed. The dynamic between them remained as stretched and tense as it had been in the hallway.
“I said hurry up, for fuck’s sake,” Ryder growled again, shaking his head as he stepped into the light.
The senior chief quickly nodded in the direction of his master chief. “Sir, situation?”
“SNAFU,” the master chief replied stoically. “Move on.”
Obediently, Blackshot took off in the opposite direction before Olivia could say anything else.
A moment of silence chilled the air even further. She glanced up at the looming operator nearby, her face nearly frozen in the cooling desert air, and wrapped her arms around herself protectively.
They hadn’t left things on good terms.
“You,” Olivia breathed sharply, furrowing her brows at her tormentor, nearly unable to get the words out. “You promised to walk me back. And what does SNAFU mean?”
“Come.” The muscled leader pushed himself off the metal wall and walked toward a dirt pathway that led between empty work buildings. She had to run to keep up—the ‘walk back to her bunk’ wasn’t as leisurely and friendly as she’d hoped. He took it at a fast clip, and through unexpected paths. Quiet paths. Deserted paths.
Desert Exposure Page 9